


EL

by KazueEmiko



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Broken Byleth, Character Death, Execution, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insanity, Massacre, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazueEmiko/pseuds/KazueEmiko
Summary: El... El...! EL!"byleth!"
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	EL

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry.

It was bright out. Hot, damp, and stuffy. The perfect weather for a dip in one of many Fodlan’s lakes.

On days like this, Byleth Eisner and her royal wife, Edelgard von Hresvelg, would sneak away from their castle. Hubert and Caspar would run throughout the premise, searching high and low for the missing women, unaware of their little time off. Only when the sky became dark did they slide back to their duties, often time playing catch up.

They would regret it the next morning, meagerly sleeping with a few hours. But it mattered not. Every time Byleth opened her eyes, every time Edelgard opened her eyes, they would find themselves lost in a deep trance, staring into one another.

Oh, how Byleth would run her fingers through those lush white hairs, picking up strands, and letting them slide back from her hand. And she would lean forward, kissing her wife’s forehead, the young lord giggling. Byleth’s smile widened. Another kiss. This time, on her lovely lips.

But all good things must come to an end.

“Move faster, dammit!”

Her bruised wrists jutted forward, the ex-mercenary stumbling. Bounded by the thick rope, Byleth, with her swollen eyes, struggled to straighten her back as the civilians pushed and pulled her forward. Surrounding her lonesome figure was that of a large crowd, their cheers and fury poured forth endlessly.

She glanced to her right.

On those sticks… those heads…

Ah, Sylvain’s head. The poor man.

She glanced to her left.

Oh, Petra’s head. The poor woman.

She looked forward.

Dorothea, Hubert, Caspar, Ferdinand, Bernadetta, Linhardt. Those poor men and women.

Did defeating Rhea do little to alleviate their situation? Did defeating her ever do just that?

“Hurry it up!”

Another shove. She tripped over her own feet, Byleth falling to the ground. Pain flared from her arms at the awkward landing. But she didn’t stay on the ground for long. The young woman winced as she was pulled back to her feet. There was no time to recover. She had to continue walking.

Byleth glanced down and gently tugged at her own bondage.

How did it get this bad?

Months ago, Hubert burst into the throne’s room, his features paler than ever before. Sweat glistened his skin, fear swirling in his eyes. There had been a revolt against Edelgard’s ruling. The general public was displeased with her regime, calling her a monster… a demon… a devil. Edelgard soaked in their negativity with understanding.

She had her friends, her allies, her wife.

Edelgard could take on the challenges.

But everyone has a weakness.

“How slow do you have to be, Ashen Demon?”

Byleth could not help it. She was looking at Edelgard’s head on the stick. Lilac hues wide open, staring into the depths of her soul. A tear fell from her left eye as she shakily reached out to her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, El… I’m sorry…”

If only she had eaten her dinner. If only she went into the kitchen and killed the chef. If only she had died in Edelgard’s place.

“…I said MOVE IT!”

Rough callouses from her fingers barely brushed her cheeks, the bound wrists pulled on like a donkey. Byleth stumbled back in line. Civilians roared louder, their energy so unbearable, the warrior would rather be consumed by Rhea’s hatred.

If only she had the Sword of Creator…

If only Sothis was here…

The men and women roughly shoved her onto the steps. They pulled and pushed, making her climb until the surface leveled, and forced her sight on the dreadful guillotine.

“Kill the traitor!”

“Chop her head off!”

Byleth drew her trembling lips to a line. Never had she been so afraid of death, but at the same time, yearning for one.

Her chin slammed hard on the ground with little remorse, biting the inside of her cheek by accident. Iron seeped onto her taste buds as Byleth’s head was picked up. One of the men adjusted her on the wooden platform.

Above her head was the blade, fresh blood and grime from her students sticking on its sharp edges. Ironically, a gentle wind blew, ghost-like touches caressing and brushing Byleth’s cheeks. Yet it made the blade rock back and forth, the rope attached to it threatening to snap at any moment.

“Kill her!”

“If Lady Rhea hadn’t died, then we wouldn’t be forced to live in poverty like this!”

“Lord Dimitri would’ve led the nations to a better future!”

“CURSE YOU, ASHEN DEMON!”

She grimaced when a woman spat on her face, saliva trickling down from her bruised forehead.

“It was a mistake having Edelgard exist!”

“Isn’t killing her enough…?” she growled.

“Not after what she and you had done! She should’ve died from Those Who Slither in the Dark!”

“Lady Rhea would’ve defeated her if it weren’t for your interference, traitor!”

Byleth snarled, her eyes wild. “TAKE THOSE WORDS BACK!” she hollered. “TAKE IT BACK!”

But the crowd didn’t listen. They continued their relentless assault, their flames of fury burning her alive, roasting her until death grant her peace.

Byleth bore her teeth. If Byleth were to be brutally honest, she didn’t want to die just yet.

She would do anything to kill these people. To kill them all. To exact revenge for killing her friends— her students, her allies, and her wife. To make them pay after all they had done for Fodlan. Byleth squirmed from her bounded wrists and held head. Even if Edelgard were to curse her from her grave, they will pay. They will pay. They will pay. They will pay.

They will pay.

They will pay.

THEY WILL PAY.

_"byleth!"_

**ThEY wILL PaY**

THEY WILL PAY

THEY WILL PAY

_DIE._

She twisted her wrists long enough to slip them out of their roped captors. Byleth swung her fist hard against the man holding her head down. He wasn’t able to react. Her lacerated knuckles dug deep into his face, crushing his nose. The man howled and grabbed his bloodied face.

But Byleth didn’t stop there. He stumbled backward as she scrambled up to her feet, grabbing his collar, and headbutt him on his nose. His nose crunched. And his howl became high-pitched, inhumane, shrieking like a slaughtered pig. Byleth shoved him away as some armed civilians ran past him.

Sticks, stones, weathered lances, axes, swords… She lunged at them with bare fists.

Red represented royalty and power. From the cape draped over her arm as a house leader to the royal dress as lord of the Adrestian Empire, Edelgard had always worn it. It became Byleth’s favorite color.

However, the red she saw coated over her vision, her animalistic nature tearing and shredding apart the armed civilians. But she didn’t stop there. Byleth picked up the fallen weapons and chased after the fleeing public.

“El…”

Byleth thrust a lance deep into a woman’s chest, her beating organ sprouting out of her back with the tip.

“El…!”

Byleth slashed a sword with all her might at an old man’s eyes, blinding him.

“EL!”

Byleth smashed a axe on a child’s head, transforming the sobbing mess into a heap of mangled flesh.

Fire broke out from a few fallen torches. Flames licked and burnt Byleth, but she stood in the middle of the massacre, axe at hand, her eyes fuming. Dead bodies scattered throughout the premise. Those that were able to make a hasty retreat would cower in fear for the rest of their lives. A nightmare about the Ashen Demon becoming a literal demon from hell.

Byleth held the side of her head and lurched sideways. She caught her balance while raggedly breathing.

It was hot…

It was hot.

Hot.

HOT.

HOT AS HELL.

**HOT LIKE HELL.**

_"byleth!"_

HOT.

_this is hell._

Byleth turned around. In the flames, all her students’ head were present, their eyes staring at their teacher. She walked. The axe dragged on the ground, occasionally running through dead bodies, trailing blood and bodily fluids following afterward. Byleth reached out for her.

“El…” her voice cracked. She touched her cheeks. Edelgard’s eyes… were closed. Byleth struggled to smile. “El… El… El…!”

She removed Edelgard’s head and hugged her. Byleth buried her face into her head, rubbing with her nose as if a mother would do to their child.

“EL… A-Agh… EL…!”

Byleth killed them. But she didn’t kill them all. Byleth kissed her forehead, stricken with grief.

“Uh… gh… El…” she could only say. “El… El…”

The ex-mercenary, with her wife, walked into the flames, the axe still dragged onto the massacred ground.

A tale weaved into the heart of Fodlan’s history. A tale of a serial killer wandering aimlessly throughout the lands, killing everyone she sees. Yet as fortunate as her death was by Claude and his surviving allies, including Hilda, Marianne, Lysithea, and Ignatz, many believed that her spirit still walked upon the land. One could still hear her cries of “El” and the sound of a heavy axe dragging on the ground. But also, one could hear the faint calling of _"byleth!"_ between her cries. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry 2x.


End file.
